


it is tuesday my dudes

by AstriferousSprite



Category: The Halcyon (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Episode: s03e11 Mystery Spot, Gen, M/M, Time Loop, and i have no intention of rewatching that pile of homophobic hot garbage, disclaimer: it's been a hot minute since i've seen spn so specific plot details are obvi a mess, inspired by the shitstorm that was this entire week, oh my god please fucking forgive me, so this is what you get baby!!!!, this is just unadulterated trash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:35:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27460558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstriferousSprite/pseuds/AstriferousSprite
Summary: Exactly what it says on the tin: Toby's a demon hunter stuck in a time loop where Freddie keeps dying every day, and there's only one person that can help him break out of it...
Relationships: Toby Hamilton & Freddie Hamilton, Toby Hamilton/Adil Joshi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	it is tuesday my dudes

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by recent events...  
> I really have no excuse for why I'm writing Supernatural-inspired anything in the year of our Lord 5781, but listen, it's been election day for four days straight and Georgia just flipped blue and Trump's out of office and Castiel is apparently canonically gay and in super hell now and I'm very tipsy, so my impulse control is all but shattered, so here's some eternal Tuesday that no one asked for!!!!

_Georgia…_

Toby groans, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand as he shifts in bed, the too-thick covers bunching around him as he wakes up in yet another shitty American motel room.

_Georgia, the whole day through…_

The curtains are most rudely pulled back, and Toby flinches against the assault of the bright sun pouring into the dingy room.

“Rise and shine!” says Freddie in a disgustingly sweet voice as he prances around the room in that straight little way that Toby hates every time, but especially this early in the morning. “What a fine alarm we’ve set today, eh?”

“We’re not even in Georgia,” grumbles Toby as he stays put. “We’re in Nashville.”

“We're English, the American south is practically indistinguishable.” Freddie stretches his arms up. “Now come on and get dressed; breakfast downstairs is open until ten and it’s already nine o’clock, so we don’t have much time to spare.”

_Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind—_

Toby slams his hand down on the phone, cutting off the alarm.

“Hey.” Freddie pouts as he makes his way to the bathroom. “I wanted to listen to that.”

“Listen to it on your own time.”

Despite the fuss they’re soon both dressed and congregated in the lobby, inhaling whatever meager continental breakfast the great American south has to offer for them.

“If there’s one thing I’ll never understand,” says Freddie as he takes a large bite of bacon, “it’s how these people always manage to so thoroughly mess up bacon every time.” He frowns around his mouthful. “It’s not s’posed to crunch.”

“Our apologies if you find your dining experience unsatisfactory,” says the man behind the front desk without an ounce of apology in his voice; the nametag affixed to his shirt reads _Adil._ “If you wish to take up a complaint—”

Freddie’s face turns red. “I’m sorry, er, pardon me,” he mutters into his breakfast plate. Adil just smiles and goes back to work at his computer while Toby smirks.

But alas, the satisfaction of his brother getting owned doesn’t last very long, as they tragically have a job to do.

Toby takes a sip of coffee. “So what have you heard so far?”

“Not much,” says Freddie, politely polishing off the bacon he was roasting just a few seconds ago. “The mysterious disappearances and overly graphic murders all definitely sound like a potential demon outbreak, but so far I haven’t been able to find the source.”

“Damn,” says Toby around the mug of coffee; it’s watery and bland, as typical for motel lobby coffee. He doesn’t know why he expected any better. “Guess we’ll have to hit the streets and do some proper investigating.”

“Get the locals to talk.” Freddie smiles. “Always your strong suit.”

“Shut up and finish eating.”

With their breakfast all hastily consumed, they’re ready to get down to business.

Although he’d never admit it to his face, Freddie was right; getting people to talk has never been his best bet. Between the two of them, Toby is clearly the brains of the operation, the years of pursuing a pointless doctorate at Oxford finely honing his research skills. Freddie, with his generic nice boy charisma, is leagues better at getting locals to open up about the strange sights they might have seen, provide them with any useful leads. This time, they aren't able to get too much, but the locals are quite friendly and manage to offer up a few points; this town just hasn’t been the same, they say, since those two Europeans moved in next door, not like they have anything against Europeans, heavens no, I mean just look at you two strapping lads—

“Have a wonderful day, madam,” says Freddie with that prizewinning smile, grabbing Toby’s arm and steering them away before the conversation could get any weirder. “And thank you kindly!”

“I have to say, people here are a lot more open than the last case,” says Toby once they’re walking back to the motel. “The gents back in Manhattan hardly gave us the time of day.”

“Dear God, don’t remind me,” says Freddie just as the crosswalk turns green. “Acting as if they didn’t know what we were talking about when we asked if they saw anything stra—”

He hardly has time to get out his sentence before he’s slammed into by a speeding pickup truck.

“ _Freddie!_ ” Freddie, of course, doesn’t hear him; he’s too busy being flung across the street and landing meters away with a sickening _crunch._ Toby can already smell the blood just running towards him, panic coursing through his body. “Freddie, God, no, _please_ don’t be—”

_Georgia…_

Toby gasps as he wakes up, the too-thick covers bunching around him as he wakes up in the same shitty American motel room.

_Georgia, the whole day through…_

The curtains are most rudely pulled back, but Toby barely flinches against the assault of the bright sun pouring into the dingy room. He’s far more focused on the man who just threw open the curtains.

“Rise and shine!” says Freddie in that same sweet voice as he prances around the room in that straight little way that Toby would usually find irritating, but right now he’s far too preoccupied to notice. “What a fine alarm we’ve set today, eh?” When Toby doesn’t quip back, he turns to look at him.

“Toby, are you alright?” he says, his eyes suddenly wide with concern. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Realizing his jaw is still hanging open like an idiot, Toby shakes his head. “Just a nightmare,” he says, only half believing it. “And for the record, we’re not even in Georgia, we’re in Nashville.”

Freddie cocks his head, but he at least seems to accept the answer. “We're English, the American south is practically indistinguishable.” He stretches his arms up. “Now come on and get dressed; breakfast downstairs is open until ten and it’s already nine o’clock, so we don’t have much time to spare.”

_Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind—_

Toby slams his hand down on the phone, cutting off the alarm.

“Hey.” Freddie pouts as he makes his way to the bathroom. “I wanted to listen to that.”

“Listen to it on your own time,” says Toby, his eyes glancing at the phone and—

Hang on.

The date—the date is exactly the same as it was yesterday.

“That’s funny,” he says.

“Toby, what are you talking about?”

“It’s Tuesday, innit?”

Freddie blinks, his hand still on the bathroom door. “Yes?”

“But yesterday was Tuesday!”

Freddie just looks at him.

“Do me a favor and don’t talk until you’ve had your coffee,” he says, before finally closing the door behind him.

Once again, they’re soon both dressed and congregated in the lobby, inhaling the same meager continental breakfast as—yesterday? Today? It’s too early to make sense of anything.

“If there’s one thing I’ll never understand,” says Freddie as he takes a large bite of bacon, “it’s how these people always manage to so thoroughly mess up bacon every time.” He frowns around his mouthful. “It’s not s’posed to crunch.”

“Our apologies if you find your dining experience unsatisfactory,” says Adil, who’s once more behind the front desk. Toby takes a good gander at his face and is nearly taken aback at how he didn’t notice _that_ yesterday—last today—whatever. He’s sure he could never forget a face as breathtakingly gorgeous as his.“If you wish to take up a complaint—”

Freddie’s face turns red. “I’m sorry, er, pardon me,” he mutters into his breakfast plate. Adil just smiles and goes back to work at his computer while Toby continues to gape at him, his stupid heart racing despite himself.

But alas, the stupidity of his crush doesn’t last very long, as they tragically have a job to do.

Toby takes a sip of coffee, trying to hide his own growing blush. “So what have you heard so far?”

“Not much,” says Freddie, politely polishing off the bacon he was roasting just a few seconds ago. “The mysterious disappearances and overly graphic murders all definitely sound like a potential demon outbreak, but so far I haven’t been able to find the source.”

“Damn,” says Toby around the mug of coffee; once again, it’s watery and bland. He doesn’t know why he expected it to be any better this time. “Guess we’ll have to hit the streets and do some proper investigating—”

He stops.

No, they should absolutely _not_ hit the streets and do some proper investigating. Because the last time he and Freddie hit the streets, Freddie literally hit the street and—and he really couldn’t handle himself if he were to die again.

Toby shakes his head. “It’s Tuesday,” he says. “Probably not a lot of people out and about right now.”

“Toby, it’s July, it’s the holidays.”

“Americans don’t get holidays,” says Toby. “Let’s just—let's wait until later today, alright?”

Freddie frowns. “Fine,” he says. “But you’re paying for lunch today.”

“Deal.”

With their breakfast all hastily consumed, they’re ready to head back to their room.

“Back to doing nothing for hours on end,” says Freddie, as Toby hunkers at the desk with his laptop open, pretending to do any bit of research. “Christ, I forgot how hot it gets around here.” He groans and heads over to the air conditioning unit. “Did we forget to turn it on?”

“No, it’s on.”

“Not enough,” says Freddie, wiping the sweat from his forehead as he fiddles with the settings. “How do these people _live_ like—” He huffs.

“It’s just air conditioning, Freddie.”

“It’s not _adjusting,_ ” he bitches, bending down behind the unit. Toby shrugs, turning back to the coolmathgames.com page he’s currently got open. “I don’t understand, is it a wiring problem or something? For God’s sake—”

A horrible electric crack rips through the air. When Toby looks back, Freddie’s frozen in place, his hand contracting around the plug—and too late, he notices the exposed wires.

“Freddie!” he yells as Freddie goes slack, collapsing against the unit. When Toby rushes over to check on him, he gets zapped for his efforts—but, moreover, he can’t find a pulse.

“God damn it,” he sobs as he bends forwards, trying to shake him awake, get any life out of him; were thinking straight, he’d call 911 right off the bat and begin chest compressions, but Toby hasn’t had a single straight thought in five years. “Come on, Freddie, you can’t die, please don’t die on me—”

_Georgia…_

Toby swears as he wakes up, crawling under the too-thick covers as he wakes up in the same shitty American motel room once again.

_Georgia, the whole day through…_

The curtains are most rudely pulled back yet again, but this time Toby expects it and doesn’t react to the assault of the bright sun pouring into the dingy room. Because once again, the same man who died two days in a row is throwing open the curtains.

“Rise and shine!” says Freddie in that same sweet voice as he prances around the room in that straight little way of his that is reassuring, for once; it’s a sign that he’s still alive. “What a fine alarm we’ve set today, eh?”

Toby narrows his eyes. “It’s fine, alright,” he says. Once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence, but three times… “But we’re not even in Georgia, we’re in Nashville.”

_We’re English, the—_

“—American south is practically indistinguishable,” finishes Freddie, just like the past two days—past few todays? Whatever. He’s still stretching his arms up. “Now come on and get dressed; breakfast downstairs is open until ten and it’s already nine o’clock, so we don’t have much time to spare.”

_Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind—_

Toby slams his hand down on the phone, cutting off the alarm.

“Hey.” Freddie pouts as he makes his way to the bathroom. “I wanted to listen to that.”

“Listen to it on your own time,” says Toby, this time deliberately checking the date on the phone and—yep, for the third day in a row, it’s still fucking Tuesday.

“Why is it always Tuesday?”

“Toby, what are you talking about?”

Toby blinks. “I don’t know, er, it’s just…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I just feel like it’s been Tuesday for too long.”

Freddie blinks. “Do me a favor and don’t talk until you’ve had your coffee,” he says, before closing the door behind him.

Once again, they’re soon both dressed and congregated in the lobby, inhaling the same meager continental breakfast as the past two—days? Todays? It doesn’t make any fucking sense. Nothing does at nine in the morning.

“If there’s one thing I’ll never understand,” says Freddie as he takes a large bite of bacon, “it’s how these people always manage to so thoroughly mess up bacon every time.” He frowns around his mouthful. “It’s not s’posed to crunch.”

“Our apologies if you find your dining experience unsatisfactory,” says Adil from behind the front desk, his gorgeous face still devoid of any apology. Seriously, it should be illegal to waste that kind of charm on concierge duty. “If you wish to take up a complaint—”

Freddie’s face turns red. “I’m sorry, er, pardon me,” he mutters into his breakfast plate. Adil just smiles and goes back to work at his computer—but not before looking at Toby and _winking at him._

And somehow, Toby manages to calm his stupid heart down enough to remember something; _that definitely didn’t happen the past two days._

But alas, the absurdity of this new point of data doesn’t last very long, as they tragically have a job to do.

Toby takes a sip of coffee, his mind still racing. “So what have you heard so far?”

“Not much,” says Freddie, politely polishing off the bacon he was roasting just a few seconds ago. “The mysterious disappearances and overly graphic murders all definitely sound like a potential demon outbreak, but so far I haven’t been able to find the source.”

“Damn,” says Toby around the mug of coffee; this time, however, it’s rich and flavorful. He wasn’t expecting it to be palatable, but it’s downright delicious. Another anomaly. “Guess we’ll have to hit the streets and do some proper investigating—” He shakes his head. “But maybe we should just take a nice walk first?”

Freddie nods, his brows suddenly furrowed. “Hmm,” he says, and then “Huh?” Toby, though, can tell that with the slight curl of his upper lip, he’s trying to say something else.

“Tob…” he slurs, his eyelids beginning to droop, “d’this bacon taste funny?”

By the time the doctors find the botulism in his bloodstream, Freddie’s already stopped breathing, and Toby’s really starting to lose his patience—

_Georgia…_

This time, Toby screams as he wakes up.

Freddie keeps dying in increasingly creative ways.

One Tuesday, his toast gets stuck in the cheap motel toaster, and he attempts to pull it out with a metal fork. Another Tuesday, and the hair dryer malfunctions in such a spectacular fashion that the bathroom is still on fire when the firefighters are called in. Yet another Tuesday, and it’s a feud with a local after a minor fender bender that leads to a shotgun being pulled out. In between all of these spectacular deaths, of course, Toby tries to put together their demon case piece by tedious piece, but it’s so hard when he’s trying to prevent his brother from dying and somehow failing every damn time.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been at this point. It doesn’t matter. He’s just doomed to this life of reliving the same fucking Tuesday at some fucking motel on the outskirts of Nashville with his brother fucking dying each and every time.

By the umpteenth Tuesday, he’s still stuck firmly in depression wondering when acceptance will hit.

_Georgia…_

Once more, Toby groans, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand as he shifts in bed, the too-thick covers bunching around him as he wakes up in the same shitty American motel room.

_Georgia, the whole day through…_

The curtains are pulled back; Toby stares at the ceiling even with the assault of the bright sun pouring into the dingy room.

“Rise and shine!” says Freddie in a sweet voice as he prances around the room in that straight little way that Toby hates every time. “What a fine alarm we’ve set today, eh?”

“We’re not even in Georgia,” grumbles Toby as he stays put. “We’re in Nashville.”

“We're English, the American south is practically indistinguishable.” Freddie stretches his arms up. “Now come on and get dressed; breakfast downstairs is open until ten and it’s already nine o’clock, so we don’t have much time to spare.”

_Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind—_

This time, Toby lets the alarm play.

They’re soon both dressed and congregated in the lobby, inhaling whatever meager continental breakfast the great American south has to offer for them.

“If there’s one thing I’ll never understand,” says Freddie as he takes a large bite of bacon, “it’s how these people always manage to so thoroughly mess up bacon every time.” He frowns around his mouthful. “It’s not s’posed to crunch.”

Toby looks over eagerly at the front desk; however, Adil’s witty comeback never comes. Some old white man is in his place, hunched over the desk; he probably couldn’t hear Freddie’s bitching if he tried.

_God damn it,_ he thinks with a sinking heart, and only later, _Wait, that's different._

“It’s not the hotel’s fault that you find the American dining experience unsatisfactory,” says a familiar voice from beside them. Toby’s eyes widen, and he looks over—to where Adil is sitting beside them digging into a cup of peach yogurt. “The front desk’s over there if you wish to make a complaint.”

Freddie’s face turns red. “Pardon me, er, I didn’t mean it,” he mutters into his breakfast plate. Adil just smiles and turns back to his breakfast, but before he can end the interaction, Toby chugs the last dregs of his coffee (perfectly mediocre this time), stands up, and walks over to his table.

“Adil!” he says brightly, leaning his arms on the table and hoping the blush on his face isn’t too obvious. “Wow, long time no see!”

That’s a fucking lie, of course; he’s seen Adil last today. And the today before last, and the today before that one, and—

“Toby,” he says, his face breaking out into a bright smile, and Toby could fucking cry, he really could. “It’s good to see you again.”

Toby just grins back; he has no idea what he wants to say next.

“Toby?” Freddie peers over at them, his brows furrowed. “Erm, do you know this man?”

Toby nods. “Of course, this is—” _Adil Joshi._ “…Adil Joshi, we went to Oxford together.” The memory slaps him in the face, and he laughs even further. “We went to Oxford together!”

“Huh,” says Freddie, turning back to his bacon. “Alright, then.”

Toby turns back to Adil, still unsure of what to say.

Thankfully, the other man has him beat. “Would you like to take a walk with me?” he asks. “It’s a nice morning.”

“Right,” says Toby, nodding. “Er, I mean, yes, of course.” Adil just smiles softly, moving to discard his trash, and Toby feels giddier than he has any right to while chasing down demons on a fine Tuesday morning.

Once they’re both outside under the warm Tennessee sun, they walk along, and Toby realizes he has to broach the subject at some point. Because so far, almost all of these Tuesdays have been the same, except for two variables: the nature of Freddie’s death and Adil’s actions.

Adil, his former classmate back when he was still a grad student at Oxford. Adil, who was here in the United States for some reason. Adil, who was the only person to ever change independently of Toby’s actions in this never-ending loop of Tuesdays.

“So,” he eventually says, sticking his hands in his pockets, “what brings you here to Tennessee?”

“Oh, well…” Adil stares straight ahead. “I guess, term’s over and I was just looking for a change of scenery.” He turns back to Toby, and the light catches on his hair in just the right way. “What about yourself?”

He shrugs. “Work,” he says nonchalantly. It’s not a lie; he and Freddie really are here for professional reasons. He just hopes Adil won’t ask _what_ profession they’re involved in. “Look, Adil, this is going to sound mad, but…”

He has to say it at some point. He needs an explanation, damn it.

“…but I think I’m stuck in a time loop.”

When he looks over again, Adil doesn’t seem surprised at all. All he says is, “What makes you think that?”

He huffs. “Well, nothing except for the fact that I’ve been reliving today for the past…” He throws his arms up. “I don’t even know how long.”

Adil smiles softly. “Fifty-one days,” he whispers. “Today’s the fifty-first iteration.” Toby just gapes at him. “What, you thought you were alone in your suffering?”

“You mean…” He really should have called it at least forty-one Tuesdays ago. “You’re stuck in this loop, too?”

He laughs. “I’m afraid so,” he says.

“Right,” says Toby, even though it’s been increasingly hard to process every minute difference when Freddie insists on dying. “So that’s why you’ve been acting differently each time.”

“Right, because I’m just trying to live my life as normal, but I just keep getting sucked back to the beginning of today.” He shrugs. “So, you know, I figured, why not have a bit of fun with it?”

“Why not,” says Toby, his mouth going dry as Adil’s eyes twinkle. Fuck. It’s been a year since they’ve last seen each other on campus before Toby had to go on the run, and still, he’s feeling so giddy it’s ridiculous. “A little bit of fun, eh?”

He won’t be able to explain himself later, but for now, he figures if he’s stuck, he might as well enjoy himself a bit. It may be public, sure, but it’s only him and Adil stuck in this limbo; it will all be gone when they wake up.

Taking a deep breath, Toby leans forward, cups Adil’s face, and kisses him. 

For his part, Adil doesn’t hesitate; Toby’s heart kicks up its fluttering as he feels Adil lean against him and kiss back, resting his hands against Toby’s chest. He can still taste the peach from this morning.

And then all of a sudden, Adil goes slack against him and the hands stiffen, before pushing Toby away and—

_Georgia…_

Toby blinks awake, the too-thick covers bunching around as he wakes up in his motel room.

_Georgia, the whole day through…_

The curtains are most rudely pulled back, and Toby flinches against the assault of the bright sun pouring into the dingy room when he realizes it’s day fifty-two.

He doesn’t understand. He wasn’t even with Freddie when he made the switch. Was it all his fault? Was he too distracted by Adil to realize Freddie getting himself into mortal peril once again?

“Rise and shine!” says Freddie in a disgustingly sweet voice as he prances around the room in that straight little way that Toby would usually hate, but this time sets his heart into a quickened frenzy; _I left him. I left him to indulge in a stupid crush and his blood is on my hands. Again_. “What a fine alarm we’ve set today, eh?”

“Shut up and get back to bed,” grumbles Toby. “And we’re not even in Georgia, we’re in bloody Nashville.”

“We're English—”

“—the American south is practically indistinguishable,” finishes Toby in sync with him. For God’s sake, what will it take for this time to be the last time he hears these accursed words?

Freddie stretches his arms up.

“Now come on and get dressed,” they say in unison, “breakfast downstairs is open until ten and it’s already nine o’clock, so we don’t have much time to spare—”

“Toby, what the _hell_ has gotten into you this morning?”

_Just an old sweet song keeps Georgia on my mind—_

Toby slams his hand down on the phone, cutting off the alarm.

“Hey.” Freddie pouts. “I wanted to listen to that.”

“Listen to it on your own time,” says Toby. “But for now, you are not leaving this bloody room. I can’t—” His breath hitches. “I can’t have you dying again.”

Freddie’s shoulders sag. “Look, whatever happened, it was just a bad dream,” he says gently, as if they’re children again. “I’m not going to die.”

“You’ve done nothing _but_ die for the past fifty-one days!”

“Toby, have you gone mad?”

Toby just laughs. “This bloody demon—” He shakes his head. “Freddie, this bloody demon has stuck me in an endless loop of Tuesdays for over a month. I think I have every right to go mad.”

“So what, you’re just going to trap us both in here and pray that it’ll save our lives?”

“You’ll thank me when it’s Wednesday!” he roars.

Freddie sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Fine,” he says, making his way to the bathroom. “Fine! We’ll just stay cooped up in here all day while this demon continues to kill innocent people. I hope you’re happy.”

“I sure am!”

No sooner have the words left his mouth than Freddie manages to break his neck against the shower rod.

_Georgia…_

Toby doesn’t even bother waiting for Freddie’s lines before he’s throwing off the covers and running into the lobby.

Maybe he’s already there. Maybe the one guy doomed to an eternity of hellish Tuesdays is already waiting at the breakfast table or behind the desk, and they can at least figure _something_ out before Freddie gets himself killed again.

“Checking out early?”

Toby’s heart skids to a stop as he takes in the sight in front of him; Adil’s in the lobby, sure, but he’s got a suitcase with him and he’s sliding the keys across the counter.

“Adil!” he yells, running towards him. “Adil, wait!”

Adil blinks, looking from concierge to Toby. “Toby, what are you—”

“Please,” he says, “you can’t go, not yet, I—” He’s aware of how desperate he must look right now, but he really doesn’t care. “You’re the only one who understands me, Adil.”

“We’re in a public lobby, Toby.”

“I don’t care,” he says, leaning in. “Look, can we at least talk before we go?”

Adil purses his lips, before grabbing Toby’s hand and rounding the corner.

“Let’s go somewhere more private,” he says. Toby barely has time to ask him what he means before he’s snapping his fingers and—all of a sudden, they’re standing in the middle of a little studio apartment and it’s the afternoon.

“What—” Toby looks around. “Where the hell _are_ we?”

“My flat in Paddington,” he says. “Sorry, I didn’t want anyone to overhear us.”

Toby blinks. “And you just… I mean, _how?_ ”

Adil sighs. “Just a trick,” he says, and _oh._

Well, fuck him.

Toby narrows his eyes. “You’re a trickster spirit or something?”

“Or something.”

Toby just stares at him, his stomach all in knots. Because—

Because Adil is the only other person aware of the time loop. Adil changes his job and location on a whim. Adil can teleport.

Would it be a stretch, then, if he could also—

“Adil,” he says, his voice shaking, “please, tell me you’re not—” He sighs. “Tell me you didn’t trap me.”

Adil falters.

“Please, say it wasn’t you.”

“I… I can’t.” Toby’s heart clenches. “I’m sorry.”

Toby squeezes his eyes shut. So, this was it? These past two months of suffering were because of the man standing in front of him this whole time?

“Why?” he whispered.

“Believe me, I never wanted to do this—”

“No, I said _why?_ ” He wipes a few stray tears from his eyes. “Why did you have to kill him?”

“I…” He sits down on his bed. “I was threatened, Toby. I had no choice but to—”

“Who?”

He falters.

“…D’Abberville,” he says at last.

“And am I supposed to know who this is?”

Adil looks down at his hands. “The demon you’ve been hunting.” 

_Fuck._

So not content with killing innocent randos, he just _had_ to torture Toby. Of course he had to.

God damn it, he was _dying_ tonight.

Toby sticks his hand out. “Take me back.”

“Toby, you don’t understand how dangerous he is—”

“I do this for a damn living, of course I know!” Toby huffs. “I’m not gonna have Freddie die on me again. Now _take me back to Tennessee._ ”

Toby makes sure there’s a good line of salt outside the door before he knocks at the door.

The man who greets them, predictably, is white and well-dressed. “Ah, Hamilton and Hamilton,” he says cheerfully, as if he’s been expecting them or something. “I’ve been expecting you—” His eyes fall on the salt line right outside his door, and his face falls for a split second. “Well, that’s just rude.”

“D’Abberville, we’ve come to put a stop to this.” He glares at him. “I’ve had enough of Tuesday.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I thought it would be a bit of fun to be stuck in today,” he says, though he does take a step forward, as close as he can get to them without crossing the salt. “Like that old film, or that television program, ah, the name escapes me—”

“You’re not going to get away with this any longer!” Raising the old family crucifix, he begins chanting the age-old prayer. “ _Exorcizamus_ _te_ _,_ _omnis_ _immundus_ _satanica_ _potestas_ _—_ ” D’Abberville winces, taking a step back. “ _—_ _omnis_ _incursio_ _infernalis_ _adversarii_ _—_ ” Still, though, he doesn’t seem to fall.

“Old boy, I’m French,” he says. “I'm immune to Latin.”

Toby swears. “For _God’s_ sake, is there nothing that will—”

“The Hebrew, Toby!” yells Freddie. “Do the Hebrew!”

D’Abberville pales, clutching his chest. “No!” he yells. “Not the Hebrew!”

Toby throws the crucifix behind him and begins yelling again. “ _Baruch_ _ata_ _adonai_ _eloheinu_ _melech_ _ha’olam_ _—_ ”

By the time he’s finished, D’Abberville has long since exploded into a pile of ashes.

Toby sighs, wiping the demon ash off his forehead. “Well,” he says, “at least we got him this time.”

“And record time, too!” says Freddie cheerfully as he picks up the carelessly discarded crucifix off the ground. “We just got into town yesterday and already we have a source! How convenient.”

Toby bit his lip, thoroughly looking both ways before crossing. “Right,” he says. “How convenient indeed.”

_It was the heat of the moment…_

Toby blinks awake, the covers shifting around him as the motel room comes into view.

When he looks over, Freddie’s snapping his fingers in time to the song, the curtains still stubbornly closed.

_Telling me what my heart meant…_

“Good morning!” he says, sliding across the floor on the way to the bathroom. “Breakfast is still over in an hour, so we should really hurry up and grab something before we get out of here.”

Toby blinks. Nothing about this set-up is remotely like it has been for the past fifty-three days.

When he checks Freddie’s phone to turn off the alarm, he checks the date, just to be sure, and—

His eyes well up. “Oh, thank God,” he says. “It’s Wednesday.”

Freddie blinks. “Of course?” he says. “Yesterday was Tuesday.”

“Yes, but the day before that was also Tuesday, and then the day before that, and—” Freddie just shakes his head, still looking puzzled. “Never mind. You had to be there.”

“D’Abberville did say something about being stuck.” He walks over to where Toby is still sitting on the bed. “How long were you stuck in yesterday for?”

“Long enough,” says Toby, before standing up and enveloping his brother in a bone-crushing hug. “I couldn’t bear to see you die any longer.”

Freddie doesn’t say anything, but he returns the hug all the same, patting his back as they separate.

“Well, at least it’s all over,” he says softly, before heading to the bathroom. Toby can hear the shower running.

Someone knocks at the door.

Rubbing his eyes, Toby goes to open it and—

“Oh,” he says, the wind being knocked out of his lungs at the sight of Adil.

“Morning,” he says, smiling softly at the other man. “Just thought I’d say goodbye before I left.”

“I thought you already checked out?”

Adil shrugs. “Well, you know,” he says. “Trickster.”

Toby laughs. “Right,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

He giggles, then looks back down. “I, er,” he says, “I really can’t thank you enough, though. For… for taking care of him.”

Toby waves his hand. “Oh, please, I was doing my job.”

“Right, but… I don’t think I ever explained everything.” Toby’s pulse quickens. “I never gave you the terms of his…”

“No, no, you really don’t owe me anything—”

Adil looks up, and his eyes are unbearably soft. “It’s alright,” he says. “You ought to know.”

With that, he wraps his arms around Toby’s shoulders and leans in.

Toby’s heart leaps as Adil’s lips meet his for the second time. He’s too awestruck to properly _do_ anything, though; he can only stand there as Adil kisses him as sweetly as he always imagined he would, before pulling away with a final gentle peck of his lips.

“I thought you knew,” he whispered, leaning their foreheads together. Toby reaches back out to him, cupping his face as he did the last time. “When you kissed me on day fifty-one. I had to restart time before _he_ found out; I never meant to…”

Toby opens his eyes, his heart racing with countless emotions. “You mean, you actually…”

Adil answers him with another honey-sweet kiss, and this time, Toby lets himself get lost in it, pressing forward and meeting him in the middle.

The door to the bathroom clicks open.

Toby can feel Adil whisper “oh fuck” against his lips before pulling away abruptly. When Toby opens his eyes, he’s gone, but there’s a scrap of paper in his hand that wasn’t there before.

“Who was it?” says Freddie as he walks out fully dressed, a cloud of steam following him.

“Oh, er…” Unfurling the paper, Toby can’t help but smile widely as he sees the digits scrawled upon them with a little heart. “Just an old friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> anyone in the comments who brings up tw*st and sh**t owes me tuition money


End file.
